


Flowers Pile Up In The Worst Way

by tomorrowsnews



Category: Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-15
Updated: 2014-09-15
Packaged: 2018-02-17 11:36:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2308244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tomorrowsnews/pseuds/tomorrowsnews
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She’s hysterical and crying and your heart stops and all you catch is “car” and “hospital” but it’s enough for you to grab your coat and run outside, hopping on your bike and pedaling as fast as you can. Your parents probably didn’t even realize you left.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Flowers Pile Up In The Worst Way

You’re at the dinner table when you get the phone call. It’s awkward and silent, as usual, so your ringtone is startling to say the least. Your father grumbles about his bullshit “no phones at the table” rule but you ignore him and take it into the next room. You only check the caller ID as you swipe to answer— _Specs’ mom? weird._  She’s hysterical and crying and your heart stops and all you catch is “car” and “hospital” but it’s enough for you to grab your coat and run outside, hopping on your bike and pedaling as fast as you can. Your parents probably didn’t even realize you left. 

By the time you get to the hospital his father has texted you the room number. You get up there— _could this elevator go any slower? God how do you design an elevator for a hospital and not make it lightning fast people’s lives could be at stake_ —and you see his mom and dad standing outside the room. You hug them both and his mom’s still a mess and his dad’s barely keeping it together while he tells you what happened. You’re in shock, so the details are fuzzy, but you’re pretty sure he said that Specs got hit by a car on his way home from the library. The guy didn’t stop, but the cops caught him later for an unrelated incident; he’d been driving drunk when he hit Specs’ bike. They’re working on him now, his dad says, and that’s all they know. 

They make you sit down with them in the waiting area. The only time you speak is to mumble a thank you when his dad gets you a coffee; it’s somehow bitter and really watered down at the same time, and you’re pretty sure it’s decaf, but thinking about everything wrong with the coffee is a lot easier than thinking about what could be going wrong with your boyfriend. 

What feels like years later, in reality only three hours, a doctor comes out. His face is grim, but not the kind of grim you see on TV when a character dies. In retrospect, you think it looks more like an “I owe so much money in taxes” kind of grim. He tells you three that Specs made it, but it was close. He says someone had seen the accident happen and called an ambulance right away and they stayed with him until they got there. The doctor doesn’t know who it was, nobody does, but if it wasn’t for them, Specs probably wouldn’t be alive. For the first time today you see a glimmer of hope. 

His mother asks if they can see him, and it occurs to you that that’s the first you’ve heard her speak since you got off the phone with her. The doctor tells them to go in. He gives you a look that says to wait your turn, but you were already walking back over to the waiting area. With shaking fingers you send out a mass text to all of your friends, telling them everything right off the bat. You put the phone away and let the group message explode in your pocket. You’ve done your part. 

It’s almost another hour before his dad asks you to come in. You spent that time skimming through the outdated magazines they have sitting there. You’re pretty sure you looked at the same copy of Seventeen three times, but it’s not like you retained any of it. You try to steady yourself before you go in, but you realize you have no idea how bad it’s going to be. Nobody seemed to talk about the actual hit. On first seeing him, you can’t help but breathe a heavy sigh of relief. All things considered, he doesn’t look that bad to you. Nothing protruding, no ugly casts. His face and arms are pretty roughed up from the road, but he doesn’t look bad. His parents look at you, like they can read your thoughts, and you realize that that’s the issue. He doesn’t look bad because it’s all inside. The words “internal damage” flash across your memory, but you must’ve missed that part when the doctor was speaking. 

His parents leave you alone with him, making some lame excuse that they’re going to grab coffee, but you know they’re not leaving the waiting area. You stand there until they leave, long after they leave, just watching from the edge of his bed. You walk over to him, carefully, as if each step is painful, because it is. You stroke his face, the sections that aren’t roughed up, anyway. You take his glasses and clean them off. He’d have a heart attack if he knew how dirty they’d gotten, you think to yourself. You put the glasses back on him and you can’t help but smile. His face still looks a little dirty, but at least his glasses are cleaned off. You pull up a chair and you hold his hand and sit there and tell him how your day had been since you last saw him—after fourth period, because he’d had to skip lunch to finish up a project that was due tomorrow. You wonder if that’s why he was at the library, and you wonder if he’d finished it. 

You’re not sure when you fell asleep, but apparently you did because it’s dark outside and his mother’s waking you up. Your first thought is that she’s telling you to go home, but she’s just asking if you’d rather sleep in the empty bed on the other side of the room. You shake your head, and tell her it’s all hers, because of course none of you are going home. She smiles and thanks you, and you can see the relief in her eyes. Very tired eyes. You realize you’ve been in there for a while, and for a moment you’re worried they didn’t get any more time with him but you see his father’s already asleep in another chair, apparently having followed your lead. You go back to talking to him, quietly even though you can hear his mother fall asleep within minutes. For the first time in your life, you pray, silently. It isn’t long before you fall back asleep. 

You wake up to lots of yelling and beeping. There’s half a dozen nurses in the room and a couple doctors. Specs’ father is guiding you and his mother out of the room. She’s crying again and he looks like he’s not far off. You stand there in shock again. You’re 95% sure this is a dream, because no way can anything else be going wrong. You all sit down in the waiting area once more. You make an offer to get coffee but nobody says anything so you all stay put. It’s totally silent, and you think this is the worst part so far. 

Time slows to a stop when you see the door to his room open. It’s the same doctor from yesterday, but he’s wearing a very different expression on his face. Simultaneously, he walks toward you guys and Specs’ father gets up to meet him, while Specs’ mother starts crying. You’re pretty sure she’s yelling “no,” too, but it’s hard to distinguish her anguished cries from the sounds of your world collapsing around you. You’re aware that you put your arm around his mother and that you’re holding her, but it doesn’t actually register, so you’re convinced this is a dream. You’d be crying if this was real life, right? 

* * *

 

It’s a couple days later when you’re sitting there at the viewing, still not entirely sure if you’ve cried yet, or not. You still feel pretty numb, and you’re pretty sure that’s worse. All of your friends are there. You don’t even remember telling them anything; maybe you didn’t. The past seventy-two hours has been such a blur. 

You still haven’t looked at the casket yet. You’re afraid to. You’ve tried a couple times, but some weird remnant of your childhood is telling you that it’s scary, and you’re not really willing to fight it. Eventually it’s Jack that drags you up there. He knows you’ve been avoiding it because he’s been avoiding it with you for most of the viewing so far. So you walk up, arms around each other, steadying each other, holding each other down. You both stand there looking at him for what feels like forever. You fix his glasses. You feel Jack’s grip on your shoulder tighten, and you realize he’s crying. You don’t think you’ve ever seen Jack cry before, but then again, have you ever seen any of the guys cry before today? 

Jack has to sit down, he’s crying so badly, and some of the other guys break from their painful small talk to go check on him. The rest come up to the casket and stand with you. You haven’t moved in a couple minutes. You feel a hand on your shoulder and you kind of lean into Davey, not really sure what else to do. He’s got a firm hand on you, his other doing the same to Les. You can’t help but wonder if this is his first funeral, since the kid seems to know what he’s doing about as much as you do. You yearn to be his age, before anything happened. But you realize when you were that young, you didn’t know Specs. Or half the guys. And really, you just yearn to be a few days younger. Before it all went to hell. 

Eventually you manage to pry yourself from the casket. His parents introduce you to some of his family members; it’s awkward to say the least, considering quite a few of them didn’t know about you two. If they disapprove, they’re sensible enough to not make it known today. You realize the worst of his family is still better than yours. Race saves you from a great-aunt and you finally make it back to your friends, away from the casket and the family. You all sit in the corner, quietly swapping stories about Specs. It’s painful and it’s difficult for a lot of them, but it’s the right thing to do. Crutchie comments that he’s probably laughing at our stupid stories right now, and you can’t help but agree. By the end, everyone’s crying except you. They all just assume you’ve cried yourself out, but you just wonder when you’re going to start. 

You get your answer later that night. After the viewing, everyone piles into a couple cars and went to Katherine’s to hang out. It’s awkward and sometimes it feels forced but you’re just really thankful to be surrounded by your friends, outside of the funeral home and outside of your stuffy clothes. She brings out some really expensive looking scotch. Everybody toasts to Specs, even though none of you are old enough for this. You all toast again because Specs probably would’ve scolded you for drinking, as soon as he finished his own drink. You toast a third time because it just seems right. Someone asks Katherine if she really just stole booze from her father but she says he had left the liquor cabinet unlocked for them and that he had mentioned that he had something to take care of. You remember Specs’ parents saying they didn’t have to pay for the obituary and a couple of other things and you realize even Katherine’s father is better than yours. You take a few more drinks and that’s when you start to cry. 

You cry because your life sucks and because Specs made it suck so much less and nobody can replace that. You’re crying because you’re not sure you would be here if it wasn’t for him. He was there for you when things sucked at home, he would always be ready to talk on the phone if things got bad and he was always ready to pick you up if things got worse. He forced you to study when you’d rather watch him read and he taught you to find hope in the world again. 

That’s what you tell everyone at the service the next day, and of course you’re crying, you’re finally crying, but so is everyone else. Everyone tells you how beautiful it was and how proud of you he would be. You wonder how you’re going to get through this and go on without him there to constantly be giving you a loving push. 

After the burial you stand there at his grave, your friends behind you. Everyone else has left, even his parents. They all had their turn. You bend down and lay a flower on the fresh dirt. You stay there, crouched down beside the grave for a while. You try to think of something to say, but all you can muster up is a meek “thank you.” You turn around and Jack’s already there, holding you, letting you cry it out on his suit. You realize then, that your friends are how you’re going to get through this. You realize you’ll all be needing each other to get through this. Everyone else joins you and Jack, and this time the “thank you” that escapes your lips is a lot louder.

**Author's Note:**

> I cannot believe I wrote this and I cannot believe that this is my most popular fic on tumblr so far holy shit I wish I could say I was sorry but then I'd be lying.


End file.
